


angels on evergreens

by dizzy



Series: alone together [2]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: M/M, and therefore contains references to current world events, set currently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28533417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/pseuds/dizzy
Summary: Simon and Baz meet to spend Christmas day together.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: alone together [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2090211
Comments: 7
Kudos: 59





	angels on evergreens

Baz really has no idea what he's doing, and this weird sense that he's breaking some sort of rule by having a date - is it even a date? - and looking forward to it during this godforsaken world climate they're currently all existing in. 

He's not breaking rules, actually. He lives alone and, for the moment, so does Simon. They're two people in need of support and willing to give it to each other. 

Two people who have also spent the better part of the month navigating their way into something Baz will confidently call a friendship and a bit more hesitantly call a potential something more. 

It's that last bit that has him feeling entirely flustered, of course. But he really has to sort himself out, because according to the text staring up at him from his mobile screen, Simon's on his way. 

-

"Snow," Baz says, answering the door. 

Simon looks good. He's wearing a heavy coat and a dark green turtleneck that makes his eyes seem even brighter. His hair is soft and looks deliciously tousled and Baz has so many naughty thoughts that Father Christmas is probably making an entirely new sort of list just for him. No coal in his stocking, just a cold shower poured directly on him. 

"Baz," Snow says. He has a bag slung over his shoulder. "I brought wine. And a gift for you." 

"I don't have you a gift," Baz says. It's the truth; he'd considered it, but in the end erred on the side of not appearing over-eager. “I gave it to you already.” 

"You invited me," Simon says, stepping inside. "That's enough." 

"Technically you invited yourself," Baz points out. 

Simon looks at him and grins fondly. "You're such a prat." 

Baz lifts an eyebrow. On the inside, his heart is doing cartwheels in his chest. "What is that juvenile phrase? It takes one to know one?" 

"Oi," Simon says, then steps past Baz. "Shut up and give me the tour." 

-

The tour doesn't take very long at all. Baz has a nice flat in a nice area of London, but he didn't need anything large to suit his purposes. He has a bedroom, a bathroom with a tub big enough to soak in, a small home office that could double as a spare bedroom should he ever actually have guests, and a kitchen just large enough for his disastrous baking efforts not to feel claustrophobic. 

Simon gapes at it like it's a mansion, though. "I can barely turn around in my room. I swear it used to be a pantry or a closet and the landlord figured out a way to fit a mattress in just to be able to charge an extra four hundred pounds for it being two bedrooms."

"Sounds... delightful," Baz says. 

"It's shit. But that's alright. It's my own room, at least. You grow up having to sleep in a room with a dozen other guys and you learn to appreciate some privacy," Simon says. Baz must make an expression of distaste at the description, because Simon laughs and nods. "Exactly."

-

They're having a simple roast dinner that Baz absolutely did not cook himself. 

"Thank the heavens for good delivery," he says to Simon as he pulls a tray of premade potato and veg out of the oven where it had been eating. "Fetch the gravy from the microwave?" 

"Microwave," Simon scoffs. "Can't believe someone as posh as you uses one of those. Thought they were blasphemy?" 

"Perhaps," Baz says. "But I prefer the convenience." 

"Living the pot noodle life?" 

"There are limits," Baz says. 

"Hey, I love pot noodle!" 

"I am so surprised." Baz's voice remains completely dry. 

It's strange to him how easy this is. It's almost as though he's been snapping and griping at Simon Snow his entire life - almost in a sibling manner except for all the ways that there is absolutely nothing sibling-esque about them. 

He looks over his shoulder at Simon, at the width of his shoulders in that shirt, and his stomach clenches. No, not a brotherly sentiment in sight. 

-

Simon eats like it's his entire focus in life from the moment the fork first touches his fingers until his plate is empty. He doesn't turn down anything Baz offers him, and asks for seconds after looking to gauge how much is left. 

He's not messy about it, just extremely focused. Baz grew up with family dinners where polite conversation was to be endured, and school cafeteria tables where conversation flowed until the teachers shushed them all for being disorderly.

He doesn't actually mind this. It's a bit nice, feeling no pressure to upkeep small talk. It also means they finish faster - which leaves Baz with a clenching feeling in his stomach. 

He doesn't want Simon to leave this quickly. They hadn't really clarified a designated endpoint for this day of togetherness, but... this is too fast. It has to be more than just a meal, right? 

"Wine?" Baz offers. "I've got a nice bottle of red." 

Simon contemplates this. "Mulled?" 

"Afraid not," Baz says. "Red wine or..." 

"Oh, do you have cocoa?" Simon asks, face lighting up. 

"Of course I have cocoa," Baz says. "What sort of seasonal heathen do you take me for?" 

"Got anything to spike it with?" 

"... perhaps," Baz says, turning to his liquor cabinet. "I just might." 

-

Sitting on his sofa with Simon Snow, drinking a hot chocolate with an even more warming generous shot of Drambuie in it is certainly superior to spending the day alone. 

The fireplace is warming them, the soft instrumental Christmas music that Baz started playing is still piping through the speakers, and Simon's face is flushing already. His cheeks are pinkened with laughter and with alcohol, and their tongues are nicely loosened. 

Maybe it's also that there's some mutuality to the giddiness of shared company. Not only is it Simon Snow, Baz's strange far-away crush up close and in person, but it's just - it's another human being existing in his space. 

He might have missed this ever so slightly more than he let on. 

"Alright," Simon says. "Weirdest family tradition." 

"Hmm." Baz licks a drop of hot chocolate from his thumb. "My father won't allow us to open any presents on Christmas day until after the Queen's speech." 

"Well, that's traumatic," Simon says. "Imagine being young and thinking Father Christmas came but you still can't have what he brought!" 

"I don't have to imagine it," Baz points out. "I lived it. What about you?" 

"Don't have too many," Simon says. "I spent most Christmases of my life alone. Once I met Penny I started going along with her, but this year - well, you know." 

"Indeed," Baz says. "Do you miss it? Being with her family?" 

"I feel like I should," Simon says. "But I don't. I like them plenty enough, it's not like they're awful to me. But I'm just Penny's mate, the one she's not dating." 

Baz laughs slightly. "I do suppose people make up their minds rather quickly when a woman brings a man home with her for a visit." 

"You're bloody telling me, mate," Simon groans. "Have you ever had that problem?" 

"Not really," Baz says. "I haven't ever taken anyone home. My father made it... fairly clear how he felt about my preferences. I'm free to live my own life, but it's not a comfortable topic." 

"Guess it's good he didn't disown you at least," Simon says, then stops. "No, actually, fuck that. That's awful." 

The vehemence in Simon's voice makes Baz feel warmer than the drink. 

-

Baz isn't sure how it's come to this, but they're sat on the floor in front of his coffee table with a half put together puzzle spread out in front of them. 

The puzzle was Simon's gift to him, the one he gleefully made Baz unwrap as soon as Simon remembered it was in his bag. It's the same one that he'd been doing when they Skyped together, the one of Penny's that Simon still hasn't finished reassembling. 

It is fun, though. They've been squabbling over what goes where and how to best organize the pieces for almost an hour. The sun outside has already set and they've switched to the wine now, Simon far less particular with his drink than he had been earlier on. 

"There's no way that'll fit there," Simon says. "See, these four go together! I remember it from before." 

He tries clumsily to show Baz what he means. 

Baz reaches out and with one finger, turns a piece around. "You remember wrongly." 

"Your mum remembers wrongly." 

"My mum's dead," Baz says. It's his normal counter to any your mum jokes, far too prevalent amongst his classmates at boarding school. 

"So's mine, wanker," Simon shoots right back. 

They stare at each other for a few seconds, and then the laughter hits. 

-

It's nearing nine pm when Simon finally stretches his legs before him and yawns. 

There’s a reluctant tugging in the pit of Baz's stomach. "You work tomorrow," he says. It's not a question, but a statement. He knows this. 

"Don't remind me." Simon crosses his arms on the coffee table and then buries his head in them. "I don't want to work on Boxing Day. It should be illegal." 

"Too true," Baz murmurs. His hand is itching to reach out and rest on Simon's shoulder, perhaps stroke down his back. 

But he doesn't. Instead he sighs and tips his wine glass full. Two bottles gone between them, but stretched over the course of six hours, so he feels full and warm and a bit tingly in the tips of his toes but nothing that'll risk a hangover tomorrow. 

Simon lifts his head up. He really does seem just as reluctant as Baz feels, and Baz is not too proud to admit that he's glad for it. "Yeah," Simon says. "I should go." 

Baz almost asks him to stay the night, but nerves and fear still his tongue. "Alright," he says, getting to his feet. He offers a hand down to Simon, who stares at it for just a moment then takes it. 

"You're stronger than you look," Simon says, letting go of Baz's hand once he's to his feet. 

"Thank you," Baz says. "I think." 

Simon smirks, then tips his wine glass up and finishes it off. "I'm going to sleep so well tonight." 

"Good," Baz says. There's softness edging into his voice. 

He follows Simon to the door and watches as he puts his coat on. Simon grasps his bag by one strap, then easily slings it over his shoulder. "Thanks for today," he says. "This may be the nicest Christmas I've ever had." 

Baz's heart clenches. "Me too," he says, suddenly unable to find any semblance of smoothness or even coherence. "It was... good." 

“Wish we could do it again,” Simon says, sadness tinging the words. 

Baz feels that, too. Neither of them really have any idea when they’ll be able to meet up like normal - like what normal used to be. “We will,” he says, allowing for some uncharacteristic optimism. He just can’t stand to see that expression on Simon’s face. 

“Yeah?” Simon asks, eyes flickering up. 

“Yes,” Baz says. 

Simon takes a little step to close the distance between them. Up so close, his eyes seem stormy. Baz holds his breath, entirely unsure what this is about, and afraid to even hope. 

There's a softness, the press of Simon's lips against Baz's cheek. It's gone almost as soon as it was there and Baz couldn't feel more blown away. 

"I'll text you when I get in," Simon says. His face is red again, redder than before, and he almost trips over his own feet going out the door. 

-

Simon  
Made it home. I'm going to sleep now, but... seriously, Baz, thanks. 

Baz  
You don't need to thank me, Snow. I enjoyed it.   
Happy Christmas. 

Simon  
Happy Christmas, Baz. :)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to sarah for beta reading and also encouraging me to keep going with this universe <3


End file.
